


In Your Dreams, Sweetheart

by RedRileeHood, Tsuki565



Category: Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), Spider-Man - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Aged-Up Peter Parker, Angst, Avengers are gods, Basically this story is too smart and sophisticated for me to write it, Divine AU, Fluff, Hero Quentin Beck, M/M, Night Terrors, Pantheon - Freeform, Peter Has Nightmares, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Peter Parker is a Mess, Peter is a mortal, Precious Peter Parker, Protective Quentin Beck, Quentin Beck is kind of an asshole, Quentin Is The God Of Dreams and Illusions, Slow Burn, world building
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-27
Updated: 2021-03-02
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:21:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27229519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedRileeHood/pseuds/RedRileeHood, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tsuki565/pseuds/Tsuki565
Summary: Quentin Beck is the god of dreams and illusions, a New God working his way to influence the world.Peter Parker is an unexpected interruption, pulling Quentin from his rather peaceful routine into his wild disorienting nightmares, with no way to escape.//Now what//
Relationships: Quentin Beck & Peter Parker, Quentin Beck/Peter Parker
Comments: 5
Kudos: 18





	1. Chapter 1

“Stark Industries, known as The New Pantheon, which were founded at the end of the 18th century, have brought the world to a new beginning and over two hundred years advanced society to new technologies - new directions - while humorously paralleling the old gods...”  
The documentary movie was nearing its end and the narrator’s words were nothing but background noise. The living room was dark, aside from the television’s screen and the phone Quentin Beck’s was holding, displaying in dim light the end of an article. He raised his eyes from one screen to the other and sighed. Quentin pinched the bridge of his nose, then rubbed his eyes from exhaustion. He couldn’t believe people actually watched those movies, what a waste of time. He fished for the remote and changed the channel, in hope to find something more interesting.  
“Stark Industries declared this afternoon that due to ‘Planet Day’ that will take place next month, they will announce a new ‘Miracle’. The Industries' CEO and PR spokeswoman - Virginia Pepper Potts - did not elaborate on the matter, but did mention that the ‘New Pantheon’ is working on new projects to improve the life quality and preservation of the planet. The Industries themselves as usual did not provide any more information-“ Quentin turned off the TV, looked at his phone for a moment before noticing the time and closed the app he was reading on. That’s enough for today.

He rarely found himself sitting in the living room at Stark tower, but tonight was his night off and Tony pretty much threatened him that if he'll keep spending his nights off in the lab he will force him to take part in the Industries' fun nights, so instead he found a loophole and decided to spend his nights off reading, with the television turned on in the background, just in case Tony counts reading as work. Even though no one could prove that it is scientific articles Quentin was reading and not some digital book.

The corridors were lit bright, what Quentin always deemed as unnecessary since the tower was always almost empty. Most of the Pantheon’s members were spread around the world with their work, as the researchers and inventors they were, or with their real duties - as gods. He looked through the windows to the city - windows that covered the entire wall - clear with every detail of the view and never attempting to separate from the outer world. The city was radiating with life and light, the lights of traffic constantly on the move, glimpsing in the reflection of buildings around. For a moment it seemed like he witnessed a police chase in one of the main roads. Quentin rolled his eyes and turned, heading to his room; spending the night in his lab felt less exhausting than having a night off - at least there he can make some significant progress.

The door closed behind him with a piston sound; the room was rather dark, only lit by the soft city lights showing through the window. It was minimally furnished: no more than a neatly tucked bed with drawers on both sides, the wall decorated with nothing but certificates and degrees - Bachelor's and Master's degree in Neuroscience, and a PhD in Artificial Intelligence and Biocybernetics - in addition to some certificates of excellence. He exhaled with relief at the familiar space, mainly since it was the start of his 'night shift'. 

Green fog rolled around him covering the floor, glowing green outline marked Quentin's fingertips, blue eyes brightened and with a calm smile he raised his hand, gesturing the fog to raise and thicken around the room. With another elegant twist of his hand the fog wrapped into a portal to some other place - not brighter, but with a different background. Quentin walked towards it confidently, and as he passed through the portal his clothes morphed into a dark green scale-like body suit. The space was lit with faint light of stars, grey grass covered the ground and long dark arms stretched from the ground up to the sky, each held a screen-like square with a video playing and leaking from its frame, each side that crossed the frames boundary evaporated in the air.  
The ground's topography was not uniform, but composed of hills spreading to the infinite horizon. Quentin wasn't really standing on the ground, he was levitating a few meters above it to match the height of the 'arms'. With a quick scan around, his lips stretched to a smile, his eyes focusing on the visuals on the screens as he flew around them, checking each of them swiftly and curiously; most of them were standard: repeating memories, actions learned during the day; some were just weird and some were less pleasant - and with quick gesture he shut them off. All those were nothing more than regular REM sleep. Dreams. When he wasn't busy with research and development in Stark Industries, he was supervising dreams. His eyes shifted to the obscure stars as he rose high towards them. It wouldn't change their obscurity or sharpness in his eyes, but it was a privilege he really enjoyed lately. He stared at them just for a moment, then turned his gaze back to the ever-spreading screens before closing his eyes and letting himself feel, each and every one of them like a different nerve in his body, each like a different sensory neuron; some itching, some warm. One painful.  
One painful?  
He opened his eyes, wondering, and without a second thought he flew towards that painful sensation, looking for the problematic screen. It took longer trying to locate a specific one, because just like physical pain, it radiated. He eventually found the area and moved around slowly, checking the screens, and as he moved further the feeling of pain pulsing stronger on his skin, until he finally found the source. The video on this screen wasn't leaking like the rest, it looked like waves crashing on rocks where the edges should be - the visuals were surging wildly and Quentin looked confused - whatever was happening now, it was extremely rare.  
He moved closer, reaching a hand to try and restrain the dream - no, night terror - and he concluded that he was dealing with an unhealthy mind.

He blinked, or at least he thought he did, since suddenly all he saw was darkness around him. Then the darkness turned to a night of full moon.

The silence broke with a loud noise of exploding cement and stones falling, a cry of pain cut short and engine buzzing from above.  
Quentin opened his eyes, 'breathing' the dust in the air and out of instinct covered his mouth and nose with his hand, feeling choked; a ringing in his ears from the blasted building. He looked around, trying to understand the scene, then examined himself with shock. "What the hell?" He mumbled, voice rusty from the lack of recent use. His eyes moved to the remains of the exploding building, he felt the anxiety and fear that washed over the scene and it looked like the building itself was collapsing into itself - like a black hole. The ringing in his ears stopped, now allowing him to hear soft sobs. With a heavy sigh of silent anger he raised his hand, eyes locked on the sobbing building and with a flick of his fingers, everything disappeared. Lights out.

He thought it was a one-time thing, but he found himself returning to the same screen three days in a row, getting swallowed by it into darkness each time with no power to resist.  
On the fourth day he wasn't just swallowed, but physically pulled in, and as the days passed he found himself in the nightmare without even getting close to the screen.  
Loud noises, chaos, negative sensations.  
On the seventh day he found himself on the fifth avenue surrounded by a crowd of people, all in panic and rage, and between them he could swear he saw a teen looking back at him, his brown eyes big with surprise, his hair short and wavy, wild and damp. He looked at him as if wondering why Quentin isn't reacting like the rest of the crowd in the scene. The boy's face imprinted in Quentin's mind, mostly out of grudge.  
Sometimes it were the flickering light of the police cars or ambulance; sometimes frightening screams; other times it was the collapsing building again, with the buzzing engines in the air; or one of his special "favorites" with bleeding walls in a hospital, sounds of vibrating phone, and EKG slowly echoing in the background, making him feel nauseous and dread. Quentin couldn't make the connection between them all, other than probably fear of the everyday aspects, because what are dreams if not the expression of the emotion in a surrealistic manner?

From these night terrors Quentin concluded 4 things: (1) The boy that appeared in all these dreams is the source of his problem, (2) He is probably going through something, (3) he probably has some untreated trauma - which led Quentin to his fourth conclusion: The boy had some super-hero complex, and this was his way to deal with the trauma, or his current problem, whatever it is.  
But there was one thing that Quentin could not understand - how the hell was this boy pulling him into his nightmares? 

He was getting pulled to the mysterious boy's screen two weeks now and he couldn’t hide or deny that it was getting on his nerves. The bad dreams, the horrific feelings, the fear. At first they just exchanged a glance in a dream that ended with Quentin's finger snap, and as it continued it seemed like the boy could recognize Quentin. On the last time, he dared to mumble "You're here" just before Quentin snapped the dream to its end.

This time it was a 'rerun' of the collapsing building - this element probably haunted him - Quentin thought bitterly. He lowered his hands from his ears after the usual noise; he knew the boy's nightmares as good as his own world now, but this time something felt different. The sobbing building was still sobbing and he was just about to snap his fingers again to finish it, but the buzzing of engines from the sky - a thing that until this day he only heard but never saw - got louder. He looked up, getting a quick glance at the full moon, then a winged figure appeared, covering it: wings stretched to their length and bright at the tips, legs like giant claws. It was definitely a man, dressed as a bird of prey. What the hell?  
Quentin couldn't avoid taking a step back, mostly out of surprise. The bird-man darted towards him, what turned his bitterness into anger - there was a limit to his patience and these dreams reached it - it ends here. He raised his hand and just as the bird-man was about to grab him, Quentin snapped and erased him from existence, deciding that it's time to finish this nonsense once and for all.  
He flounced towards the remains of the sobbing building, flinching for a moment at the probably drain water leaking from the broken pipes, but the sob - that now seemed to be more of a cry of effort - that came from between the collapsed walls snapped Quentin back to focus on his primary intent. As his hands reached to move the wall's remains, something in the noises sounded different. They sounded like words, and the words formed sentences. Something that Quentin never paid attention to, and the sinking realization made him feel nauseous.  
"I'm spider-man." The boy wept, his voice shaking from the struggle and fear, in the process of a very justified panic attack.  
"Of course you are." Quentin replied, the bitterness never leaving his voice. He moved some big rocks out of the way, revealing the hole in which the boy was laying dirty, hair damp on his forehead, probably covering the flesh wound on his head. He was wearing a red hoodie and had protective goggles with one lens broken, laying in a puddle of drain water and a large broken wall from the building leaning on him. Their eyes met and Quentin could swear that the boy was smiling as if he was some saint coming to his rescue, which pissed him off again.  
"You!" He yelled out, the boy's look suddenly confused, then scared. Quentin didn't even try to hide his anger, he moved his hand, making the collapsed walls disappear, setting the boy free from the weight, then moved closer to him with a hostile glare. The boy was still looking at Quentin with fear, not breaking eye contact even as he rose to his knees.  
"Two weeks! Two weeks of you pulling me to your dreams!"  
"Wha- who are you?" Was all he managed to reply.  
"Who am I?" Quentin growled, grabbing the boy from his hoodie and lifting him up to his feet with force. "Who are you?"  
The boy stared at him, eyes wide with shock. "Why are you in my dreams?" His voice sounded vague, just for a moment, and both could hear a noise echoing in the background.  
"No, don't you dare waking up." Quentin muttered. "you owe me some answers: who are you, how did you summon me to your dreams?"  
"I don't know."  
"What do you mean you don't know?"  
"I don't- I don't know. Who are you?"  
Quentin went silent for a moment, pondering over what the boy just said.  
The music got stronger, just like his grip at the red hoodie. "You're lying to me and you will answer my question!"  
"I told you I don't know, and I don't even know you!" The boy answered as panic rose in his chest: Quentin's furious look, the chaotic music in the background getting stronger felt like hits all over his body, or a wake up slap to his face.  
He disappeared with the sound of music, and the anxiety and fright that was building up faded with him, leaving Quentin floating in his world in front of a black screen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WELL that's what you get when you bring the idea of God-Quentin to someone who loves to world-build for fun.  
> I hope you'll enjoy this story as much as I'm enjoying writing it!  
> ~  
> (Beta's note - Just wanted to let you know that my dear friend Tsuki has a few chapters ready, they're in a process of translation and beta, so stay with us if you enjoyed it! ♥)


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 2 of Holy Daddy Quentin

It has been almost 72 hours since That Dream, and everything was quiet. Quentin was sitting in the kitchen, staring at his cereal bowl and chewing slowly, as if it took some kind of mental effort. Two nights of silent divine-work, and what bothered him was the fact that the boy’s screen was black no matter the hour. He could understand and even excuse 24 hours, but after two days it seemed too odd that the boy hadn't gone back to sleep.  
He could feel nothing from the screen - day or night - and the space that marked it in his brain felt empty, and the emptiness frustrated him beyond reason.  
He already knew what this feeling was: conditioning.  
Two weeks of being pulled into the nightmares made him develop some sort of anticipation to be pulled to the screen, and the lack of fulfillment was frustrating. It became a routine for him, and he wouldn't admit - even to himself - about the number of times during his divine-shift that he returned to the same black screen, with the hope of seeing something there, to even be pulled again.  
The only positive side he found for this situation was that for any conditioning there was an extinction, so it’s only a matter of time until it will stop bothering him. 

Tony joined him not long ago in the kitchen, wearing a once-white sleeveless undershirt, now covered with 'Rorschach inkblots' - thanks to the machine oil, with the tolerable and familiar oily aroma - and an old pair of weared out green sweatpants; from the center of his chest, where the heart is, circle shaped light was visible through the fabric.  
He looked tired, seemingly from another all-nighter of building and developing one of his inventions. He found his place at the counter next to the coffee machine, at a perfect angle to see Quentin's face. 

At first he looked at him without paying much attention, waiting as the machine filled the cup with coffee. He waited for it to cool a little, then sipped, his gaze stayed but the expression changed to a more concerned one, like somehow he expected that the drink would give him an entirely different view, and without it happening, the realization of reality fell.

"Did you return in a silly mood or is there something wrong, Quentin?" He finally asked, and it took the other a few seconds to look back at him.  
"Why are you asking?"  
"Usually when you eat a two-ingredients breakfast it means that something's wrong, not to mention that the cereal looks way too soft."  
"I'm fine."  
"Ok." Tony fell to silence, taking another sip. His eyes still locked on Quentin. "Is it about your project?"  
"No, why?"  
"No reason." His gaze finally turned away. "It's just that in the last two weeks you looked very troubled and irritated, that's all."  
"Well I'm troubled and irritated for more than two years now, I don't see why it's so different."  
Tony chuckled. "I think that your team is the best way to measure your mood, and when they fear you, I know it's bad."  
"So this whole conversation, just because they sent you a complaint note?"  
"Sort of." Tony looked at his half filled mug. "But really, if we put the complaints aside: did something happen?"  
"No, I was just… wondering. That's all."  
"For two weeks?"  
“Yeah, it's a frustrating thought, and I’m not sure…” he turned to Tony, placing his forearm on the back of the chair, giving him all his attention in almost a desperate look. “In a hypothetical situation, say-”  
“A hypothetical that's really hypothetical, or one that I'm supposed to pretend that it's hypothetical?” Tony interrupted. "Just to know if I need to fix myself another cup."  
“Let’s say hypothetical-hypothetical?” he replied and Tony sipped. “Is it possible that a dream, or a nightmare, will pull me in without my consent?”  
Tony hummed, keeping his lips pressed to the mug, considering his answer. "The short answer is ‘yes’.”  
“And the long one?”  
He took one last sip. “Same, but with an addition of 'you’re an idiot'. Was that the thing you were so bothered with? And here I thought it was a life or death situation.” he sounded relieved and put the mug in the sink. “Your duty is to protect and keep guard of the dreamers, so if someone needs you of course you’ll come, it’s built in you.”  
Quentin blinked, taking a moment to ignore the sarcasm; after all, Tony wasn't really a person before 10 AM. “So much that it's beyond my control?”  
“Your hypothetical-hypothetical doesn't sound much hypothetical, Quentin, but the answer is still yes - if it carries a prayer you don’t really have a choice, whatever it is - it needs you." He paused for a moment. "Did something like that happen to you?”  
“No, everything’s fine. Again, it’s all hypothetical.” he replied calmly, still aware of Tony’s concerned gaze. He knew that he didn’t buy it, and instead gave him the benefit of the doubt. 

Honestly he didn't entirely understand Tony’s answer, and to be precise, he understood only half of it: the half of ‘carries a prayer’ sounded so strange - how’s someone who’s not conscious can carry a prayer? - but he could see the logic behind the second half: he’s needed, but this ‘need’ vanished and left him with more questions than answers that only this kid could - must - give him. After all, he was accountable for these two weeks, for all the trouble he made.  
He turned his head from Tony and returned to his first sitting position, his eyes focused again on the bowl - and damn, the cereals did look soft - and tried to compose the right words to ask about the 'carries a prayer' part; maybe that will help him understand more about the situation, and lucky for him Tony was a reliable source of information, but before he could ask anything, a sound of heels on floor tiles distracted him from his thoughts. Tony's attention moved to the entrance, his expression lightened up, and his whole posture and body straightened up.  
Quentin rolled his eyes, the time or the hour never had any relevance to him - as the God of Dreams - but in Creation's name, it was always way too early for this.

Pepper entered the kitchen, already dressed for work: gray tailored pants and jacket, and a beige buttoned-up shirt under it. Her 'good morning' almost sung, and Tony reached his hand to her, awarded with her hand and a kiss on the lips.  
"Good morning to you too, miss potts." He hummed with affection. Their marriage was 'new' by the measures of the Gods: only 400 years, enough to plan and lead together a modern empire to the last detail. "What brought you to me this time, my muse?"  
"Surprises in your schedule," she smiled softly, claiming her spot next to him. His hand moved to her waist, pulling them a little bit closer together. His 'luck' - or just his essence - was that he controlled reality, so it was kind of a 'miracle' that no stain was left on her from his touch.  
A small almost-transparent tablet appeared in her hands in the colour of orange, almost like her hair, and from it a little specks of lights - like fireflies - flew around. "Another interview was added to you at CNN at 8 PM about the convention at the end of the month. I couldn't dismiss them this time and it got affirmed three hours ago; their main argument was that 'the secrecy of our events are crossing the line', and to tell the truth, even the public opinion in social media sways that way."  
Tony's face didn't mask the exhaustion he felt from the update, and it looked like he was expecting another free night in his private playground, and not for responsibility. "Only three hours? Were you up the whole night with them?"  
"Only with the news director."  
"Ah yes, directors, do they ever sleep?" He murmured out loud, making her grin.  
"You can never know when it comes to mortals. I was negotiating with him all night and he actually brought up some good points about our social and public management, not that I let him know.” she went through some notes from her tablet, probably her referencing points from the conversation, and it seemed like Tony skimmed it too. “Anyway, yesterday I sent you a message about the possibility of an interview today, didn’t you read it?”  
“I was busy in my lab.” he replied, almost embarrassed. “And this interview, it’s in addition to..?”  
“Ah,” she smiled enthusiastically, knowing he'd need a reminder; she moved her finger on the supposed-hologram, probably to show more information. “At 10 AM you have a conference at Washington about the environment, it’s mostly PR, but if you’ll raise awareness for some of our NPO for education in the developing countries, that would be great.” she moved her finger just a little bit up, revealing more information. “Don’t worry, I'll message you the names and a summary.”  
“Just send me 3 names and it’ll be done.” he smiled. “What’s next?”  
“At 4 PM you’ll need to be at Maryland University for the opening ceremony of the new department,” her gaze shifted to him. “We donated them money and equipment, so you don’t have any choice.”  
“So I won’t have time to play?”  
“It depends on how fast you’ll escape from any of the places.” her smile became more smug. Her finger moved again, and she shot a look straight to Quentin. “And for you, Quentin.”  
He just arched his brow in response and looked back at her; he tried to stay still this whole time in hopes that they’ll forget he’s there. Apparently he should have escaped when given the chance. “What about me?”  
“Our meeting is going to take place next wednesday, at 7 PM as usual, which means that you have more than a week to organize your schedules. Its topic is mostly about the convention and the Gala, and just in case you were wondering: the absence we allowed you last month won't happen again. Ever."  
“But-”  
“And the convention and the Gala’s going to be at thursday in a fortnight, which you can’t avoid too, because-”  
“Because I’m a New God?” he sighed, rolling his eyes in disdain.  
“A New God in the Making. The definition is important. And no, It’s because you’re a part of this family.”  
“Yes, mother.” he mumbled and Pepper’s smile shrunk; he could see Tony's disapproval and knew he's about to get scolded. He didn’t mean to mock, and calling her that wasn’t a lie since Tony was his creator, technically his father. She passed a glance between the two, eventually clearing her throat.  
“I hope both of you won’t dare to be late to the events that I mention.” the tablet vanished from her hands. She kissed Tony on his cheek, smiling softly. “You have two hours to be in washington, get ready.”  
“Yes, Boss.” he smiled, his hand moving upward on her waist, pulling her to him for another kiss and managed to make her giggle. “Have I told you how much I love you today?” he whispered and received a happy hum in return. 

Quentin rolled his eyes and put an elbow on the table, leaning his head on his hand with bitterness; with his second hand he played the too-soft cereal with the spoon, and as his blue eyes started to become brighter, the kitchen started to change its look, as pieces of reality were taken apart by a wave of light-green sparks, slowly making it a different place. Tony and Pepper look around wondering, and find themselves standing on an iron floor.  
The marble surface which they leaned on changed to guard-rail and iron nets, and the white glass tiles in the background became Paris’s view, showing them the city’s building’s blocks, the streaming river on the side and Palais de Chaillot and it’s gardens behind.  
Between where they were standing and where Quentin sat - which was in front of a restaurant table with sandwiches and a glass of orange juice, in the middle of a european street - there was a thin, glowing green line. Tony’s mouth showed a hint of a smile that was between annoyance and amusement. “Really Quentin? I can’t believe that of all places you chose us Paris; after all, everyone knows that Pepper and I married in Milano.”  
“I wanted to diversify.” he smiled calmly, letting the illusion fade into green smoke that disappeared quickly.

Pepper sighed and took a step back from Tony, straightening her jacket afterwards. “Less than two hours, Tony.” she said, and turned to the entrance, leaving them alone.  
“You need to be nicer to her.” Tony said, making Quentin look back at him. “She runs our whole world for us and it isn’t even her job.”  
“Then she needs to stop treating me like a little kid with all these schedules and hours, I’m managing them perfectly by myself.”  
“Like last month?”  
Quentin shrugged. “It was work-related.”  
“The Pantheon and it's events are work-related, too.”  
“How exactly? As long as I’m ‘in the making’, my presence has no meaning; not in meetings and not in events. It’s just being a pretty face.”  
“You’re right,” Tony got closer to him, putting a hand on his shoulder. “I know it isn’t convenient, but if you don't show up then we won’t see you at all; there are things that are just for the politics.” he looked like he wanted to say more, but in the end he decided not to by looking away. “Anyway, I really should get ready.” he let go from Quentin and continued to the exit. “And Quentin, be a good boy and stop scaring your team. Or random engineers from the Industries.”  
“I can’t promise you a thing.” Quentin replied, almost jokingly, and Tony left him alone.

He leaned on the back of his chair, sighing. Now that this ended he can continue to think how to solve his little mystery. His eyes wandered, only then focusing on his phone at the table next to his bowl. He looked at it, suddenly wondering if he could use his connections to find the boy. On the one hand it’ll take less time and energy, but on the other hand, wouldn’t it be too much?  
He touched the screen, waking it. His finger touches on the chat’s app and almost again on the chat with the name ‘Nat’ on it. His eyes shift to the entrance; will this be too weird to ask for her help? He didn’t really talk to her for at least two months, which means that a random massage - and one which asks for a favour - could be in a bad taste.  
Although If he’ll ask her she would never question him or his reasons.  
His eyes moved back to the screen, there was no way he would find the boy all by himself, and to tell the truth, he was too curious and too frustrated from all that happened.  
And she was really good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took 2 months to post this chapter, the pandemic really did her thing on both of us.  
> Anyway, the chemistry between a lot of characters are gonna be a bit different from what we saw in the movies, but really that's what will make it more fun!


	3. Chapter 3

The door of the coffee shop opened and he went inside, the hour was almost 10 AM and he arrived, just like he promised.  
The place wasn’t that big, it managed to fit a few tables, in addition to a bar and a few chairs in front of the glass-wall that faced the street. Next to the cash register at the end of the place there was a display case with little cakes and pastries that each of them looked tempting. He approached the cash register, the girl with the curly red hair looked directly at him with a smile, 'Michelle' was written on her name tag.

“Hello,” he forced his voice to sound thicker and official, all while looking amused and flirtatious; his cash already in his hand. “I want to order coffee to go, tall cup.”  
“And how would you like your coffee, my good sir?” she replied with an amused smile as well.  
“In the colour of my soul.”  
“Which means french vanilla coffee or… mochaccino?”  
"MJ, NO!” his persona cracked and his smile grew.  
She loved when he came to visit her in her shift, although this time they scheduled that, and lucky for them it was quiet for now. “A tall cappuccino on it's way.” she said, taking the money to the cashier and passing the order to the barista. She returned to her spot, leaning on the table. “So how was your day?”  
"It just started.” he replied with a shrug, eyes shifting to the newspaper stand next to him - probably for customers to take with their morning coffee - noticing that next to the main headline there was a photograph of Spider-man. He couldn’t stop his lips from curving to a smile. When he returned to look at MJ she smiled at him almost proudly.  
“It’s your picture, right?”  
“Ah, what?”  
“You took this picture, didn’t you? Cause you're the only one succeeding in taking such good pictures of him.”  
“That’s… yes.” He looked embarrassed, and MJ turned just for a moment to bring his coffee, and as she passed it to him he reached for the cup with a shaky hand, which made her frown.  
“Are you taking your pills again?”  
“No, why?”  
She squinted suspiciously. “you’re always shaking when you’re on them.”  
“Hey, that’s definitely a natural reaction for tiredness.”  
She hummed, eventually accepting the excuse. “You need to talk about this with your psychiatrist, though.”  
“I guess.” he blew on his drink and moved to add some sugar, then to cover the cup, all while MJ's eyes followed him.  
"So what’s your plans for today?”  
“Probably trying to capture some more photos of Spider-man.”  
“He’s really wanted, huh?” She looked amused. “Maybe I should try my luck and start taking pictures of super-heroes, too? It looks fun and simple… Which kinda reminds me: have you heard about  
Flash?”  
“What about him?”  
“He finally became internet-famous and now he gets paid for his page.”  
“Really?” he took a sip.  
“Yup. Can you believe this? Free flights, invitations to events - and sometimes even performing at them - he’s almost popular like Tony Stark himself.” she smiled amusedly. “Well, like Tony Stark if he knew how to DJ.” her eyes darted from Peter directly to the glass-wall that faced the street, noticing some potential customers. Overall she wasn’t jealous of Flash, and she was still happy to sometimes meet Peter just to break the daily routine by talking about their friends from highschool, among other things, and especially about Ned who ‘abandoned’ them for a good university.  
Peter chuckled, taking another sip. “Life isn't that bad.”  
“No, it’s not. Just boring. Which is really surprising considering that we finished high school that was, without a doubt, boring.”

They finished High School a year ago, and both of them were the only members of their group that decided to get a job first: MJ mostly out of financial reasons which were to gain some security, so she worked a lot, and Peter excused it with somewhat same reasons. Either way, life after school wasn't as spectacular as they thought it would be, and even Ned was a witness for that from a distance of a thousand miles. "So, do you have any plans for tonight?”  
“Probably watching TV with May.”  
“That sounds banal.” she crossed her arms. “Don’t you want to go to a movie with me?”  
“Very tempting, but aren't you working doubles today and tomorrow?”  
“Oh, right.” her head fell in defeat, and just for a moment she thought about the option of a 4 hours sleep, then concluded that it wasn’t worth it; the risk was too big considering she’s going to work doubles this whole week. “Man, being an adult is the bummer.” her face couldn’t even hide her despair. “I can’t believe I miss being in school, at least we were free.”  
“Yeah, you’re right.” he murmured, and their gaze met with understanding. MJ smiled just for a moment, because then some customers entered.

To tell the truth, Peter couldn't feel entirely the same; he remembered how caged he felt the whole time: the system, the excusing, the duty of attending, of being _there_. At least now he felt free to do what he wanted: being Spider-man, wake up late after night patrol, or just wandering around all day as a superhero. He loved this arrangement. He loved to be relieved, to live without the need to hide or to avoid telling the truth.  
He forced himself to step away and go to the door, and right before he exited he waved MJ for goodbye, getting the same - although hasty - response before she turned to her customer. Only then he could admit that not all was great, and that he found himself lonely most of the time.  
He took a sip from his cup, trying to change the direction of his thoughts.  
His one-year break would probably turn to be a two-year break, as opposed to MJ that’s working now and then would leave for college. His job was a freelance photographer who got paid from pictures of Spider-man that he selled to newspapers. The paycheck wasn’t that high, but it was enough for some little savings and food during his day patrols, which lasted for how many hours he felt they should.

May’s reaction for his doings, especially for his un-planned future, was kind of encouraging: she was happy that he took his time to learn about himself, all while earning some money and saving it, although he could still see her concern. Sometimes he wondered if her acceptance was as a result of her aggressively-protective nature, that became a bit more 'extreme' somewhere near the end of high school, when his nightmares began to worsen and she finally convinced him to go to a psychologist - ‘just to check it out’ - which led him to get a referral to a psychiatrist.  
It wasn't such a shock, but it didn’t exactly helped: at those meetings Peter, of course, didn’t shared much about his life as the ‘friendly neighborhood Spider-man’, and in the course of his attempts to hide the truth he probably sounded too anxious - which led the professional to determine that he has social anxiety. Not that it wasn’t an absolute lie. It didn't exactly feel like the end of the world, but what did was was the diagnosis for depression, and from that he felt the way May acted toward him: gentler, more protective, more embracing, more careful - which didn’t help his feelings.  
At all.  
another sip.

He got the pills after too many weekly sessions. Firstly, the psychiatrist concluded - mostly out of Peter's half-truths about his life - that the cause of his nightmares were an outcome of stress, probably from the school itself, the robotic classes, the depression and the anxiety. Secondly, it was probably from the sharing about the deaths of his parents and uncle Ben - you know, just to top it all for the mixture of ‘fucked-up’ - while the death of his uncle itself provided him the diagnosis of a mild PTSD.  
The only thing he could admit was that the talks about these deaths made him feel relieved - it was more about just unpacking from the heart - but because his everyday-life changed into an 'everyday happening', maybe it made something in his intonation - or by the way he moved - into enough convincing for the therapist to prescribe him these pills.  
So Peter took them, because what are the odds for the therapist to be wrong, and eventually he thought that maybe that’s what will make him feel better and less drowning in his life, besides the fact that it actually helped him with his nightmares and gave him dreamless sleep.  
This time he took a long sip and entered an alley.

He pulled out Spider-Man's hoodie and pants from his bag before dropping it to the ground; after at least 5 years of dressing in alleys he probably could even make a world record of undressing and dressing all again - which these days was to just changing his pants and put on the red hoodie with the blue sleeves.  
As the years went by, and after a few unpleasant events and encounters, he improved his suit with layers of shield underneath, and added a basic technology that worked on hotspot from his phone.  
He put the mask and fixed the suit’s pants into his high - and a bit stiff - socks, then pressed on some apps in his phone. He connected it to his inner charger in the hoodie, eventually gliding it into a pocket on his lower-back. He could hear the police radio on the inner earphones in the mask.  
Spider-man has started his shift.

Peter put the bag on his back; after getting it stolen a few times he learned to hide it as high as possible. He held out his hand to shoot a web, but the uncontrolled shaking of it stopped him, drawing a sigh of “not again” from his mouth. He took a moment to focus and finally shoot, using its acceleration when it hit the wall to lift up, then using the wall to jump higher, shooting another web from his other shooter.  
He sat on the building’s roof and inhaled deeply. MJ was right, his shakings always returns when he’s on these pills - that’s why he starts and stops takings them every time - and after his last nightmare he kind of preferred taking them, just so he could sleep without having nightmares with some tight-clothed psycho who’ll scream at him, that thanks to Creation - or Mysterio - he didn’t saw for 4 days straight.  
But maybe these shakings in particular are from the caffeine, so maybe he’s just overthinking about it?  
He breathed deeply, there's no time to mull over the thought, not when the city needs him. He shook his arms and legs only to blur the shaky sensation, and shot a web at his bag to stick it to the roof for anycase, then started to run to the roof's edge, shooting another web out of impulse as he jumped.  
Success!

It was always easier when he didn’t put any thought to this, and like a flying bird, speeding up between buildings felt so natural. Feeling the wind around him, engulfing him, was his real medication - like his true self. The cars, buses, people, all of them passed quickly underneath him, their eyes rising at him, few of them waving with greeting and recognition. Peter has always noticed them, he could hear some of them shouting 'Spider-man' enthusiastically in those milliseconds that he swung above them; although he wasn’t a ‘New God’ his status at the city was close to it, and after highschool to be Spider-man was sometimes the only thing that forced him to get out of bed, because being Spider-man wasn’t just a thing he did - it was above his feeling - it was his essence, his only responsibility he had in life that he couldn’t give up on.  
His finger couldn’t push the button on time, and as he released his grip from the web he only thanked his luck that it happened exactly when he took the swing and was tossed up. He used this moment to spin in the air, close and open his hands to bring back his focus on them, awarded with some applause underneath and probably videos and pictures that will be uploaded to all social medias in the next few minutes.  
This time he succidedly pushed the button, saving himself. The web stuck to one of the building's corners in front of him, and by holding it with both of his hands - forcing himself to not let go - he managed to create a momentum and swing past it.

The swing brought him to a high height in the air, and on the other side of the corner he saw Stark Industries tower, which made him smile as always; the building was impressive in appearance: Its broad base narrowed as it rose in height, making a sort of a standing right-angled triangle shape that only the helipad in its upper floors discontinued it; on the building's sides there were stripes in a light-yellow colour - that in specific hours looked golden - were they line together at the helipad height under the name ‘STARK’, looking like the base for the word to stand. The tower was almost entirely covered with glass that reflected the sky and the city, except a few concrete stripes that leaned diagonal and looked like the outline of the monstrous structure.  
Gold, light-blue and gray, these were the colours of the Pantheon.

Looking at the city from the inside was probably nice, and from Peter’s experience there was no way to see what happens inside the building from the outside - which made sense because most of the world-changing inventions were created there - and whether he wanted to or not he could only look at this place from afar, because for some reason his Spider-sense always sign him to get away from there by some kind of ill-feeling if he got too close.  
Moreover, the compound around the tower could be considered a small city by itself with the small park that was near it, and the shopping center that grew around it for the people who worked there.  
Peter forced himself to come back to reality; his earphones caught a call for reinforcement to a robbery in a store, and with a shot of a web he was already on his way, getting updated that it involved firearms and six gang members.  
How fun.

Maybe the years as Spider-man made him used to fighting, or maybe these criminals became more amateurs. It took him a few sarcastic comments and some webs to finish it all. They had no chance against him, and like most of the petty criminals they ended up stuck to a wall or the floor.  
Peter noticed that the situation ended in less than 10 minutes as his eyes wandered to the clock at the entrance of the shop, and with a few exchanging of words with the cop he escaped elegantly, rushing away from the scene.  
This day, he figured out, was going to stay calm by how little the police needed help, or by how nothing serious happens, so he decided to continue his patrol with the unending side missions: saving cats, preventing bicycle theft or pickpocketing, doing a lunch break and taking some selfies to sell later to the newspapers - which always paid off because his doings were appreciated and never-ending.  
This was his piece of heaven, and being on a side report next to one of the Pantheon’s felt nice every time.

He decided to end the day at twilight, returning to his starting point as the sun started to settle, collecting his bag and dressing back to his ‘civilian clothes'.  
His hands were shaking again while he put them on the emergency staircase handrail, and not long after he murmured a curse as he stopped going down the stairs because his legs started shaking. He tried to cheer himself up that it's all worth it, because he’s going to get some decent sleep tonight.

The ride back home was silent, and when he looked at his phone he saw some massages from Ned: there were a few memes that were related to his courses in addition to some funny stories from the classes, that all made him smile. He wanted to reply, but found the act of typing tiring after this day, so he replied with some laughing emojis.  
At least summer is approaching, and this means that Ned will come back and they'll meet, like in every vacation semester.

As he entered the apartment there was silence, with only the light in the living room on. He noticed at the note on the dining table, understanding from it that May went out after work with her friends and she’ll come back later. He smiled as he read her 'good luck' for today and her hoping for him to have a productive day with lots of Spider-man’s pictures, and of course, he has food in the fridge. With a quick look he found out it was a vegetable casserole and some pasta, which was an amazing choice for a dinner, especially because at this point he was too starving to be picky.

Peter took his pills, ate, took a shower and collapsed into bed. He checked the tags of Spider-man in social media as long as he could move his thumb on the screen. Most of the photos were blurry because of his speed and movement, and the videos were in low quality. The video where he made the spin in the air and saved himself was uploaded from several users, each of them showed a number of views that stood at hundreds of millions, with thousands of comments and shares, and it put a small smile at the corner of his mouth. If Flash knew he was Spider-man he would probably have choked out of jealousy.  
He placed his phone on the dresser next to his bed, his eyes wandering to the ceiling of the room, slowly scanning the walls full of photos with his friends and with May, some certificates of excellence and winning contests, a poster of Spider-Man, Star Wars, and also a smaller one of Stark Industries.  
He closed his eyes and sighed; Peter Parker finished for today.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, I'm soooo sorry it took me ages to update the story!  
> My beta had troubles because, well, life. and I basically got drowned in my job (full time) where I do most of the crucial work for the place (so basically a lot of stress), in addition to a course that I took and a test that I had last month.  
> So anyway I still got a bit of a drama in my life, but I kinda hope that it all go away in April, with a lot of hope to update with another chapter.  
> Right now I don't exactly have any beta, so I hope my english won't make you bleed from your eyes!  
> 

**Author's Note:**

> WELL that's what you get when you bring the idea of God-Quentin to someone who loves to world-build for fun.  
> I hope you'll enjoy this story as much as I'm enjoying writing it!  
> ~  
> (Beta's note - Just wanted to let you know that my dear friend Tsuki has a few chapters ready, they're in a process of translation and beta, so stay with us if you enjoyed it! ♥)


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